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Connecting
The Dots,
Borrowed
Time,
Cinnamon
Thunder,
It's
the heart he takes out tonight
Poems & Photo-digital arts by Ugur
AKINCI
Nebula
Connecting The Dots
I've
met many people
Who
never met each other.
I've
been through many cities
That
didn't know the other exists.
I've
crossed many rivers
With
waters far apart.
The
universe connects through me
Then
It's
gone.
*
* * * *
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Borrowed
Time
God
is easy when raisins ripen on time
when
bridges carry like a mother
lovers
quiver
on
cue
leaders
trumpet
graphs
that rise.
God is easy
when
She's a xerox
of
a copy
of
something happened
so
long ago
that
we fall in awe
on
knees
that
carry
almost
no one.
God is hard
when
dripping darkness
glowing
purple with hatred
sinks
a fang
into
every song
urinates
belches
swallows
still
beating human hearts.
Squinting at this painful light
every
smile hides a cry
when
children
OUR
children!
are
torn in quakes,
crashes,
fires
and
battles
God
is
hard.
For a man with
too
many pens in his shirt pocket
with
too
many keys dangling from his belt
too
many coupons
to
clip and redeem at the supermarket
it's
better
not
to force
the
lottery.
Please.
God's numbers explode
when
measured with a tape
and
gift-wrapped lovingly.
May you be blessed
however
someever
while
you
can.
(October
2002)
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For
Light Millennium: Eclipse on Bosphorus
Cinnamon Thunder
The battle is joined, hurray!
pound
for pound
drop
for drop
with
a rose in each fist
I
shoot up and hug the day
therefore
I exist.
Sweet day
my
darling cinnamon southern day
as
long as you're in me
tussle
my hair
shine
my bones
mortgage
my name.
Pull out the dipstick of my heart
and
lick it
smell
the honeysuckle
bite
the whistling pine
this
joy discriminates no one.
Who owns this day? Any day!
Who
owns the wind?
This
blood? This pulse?
Pride
of a boat well carved?
The hours are emerald precious
at
times laced with menace
a
life spent in deterrence
is
a leg left in a battle
while
the dunes shift alive
I'm
aware.
But I'm going out of my mind, friends!
in
a bright blaze
of
a single-act story.
Because
mounting a memory
is
the wrong ride back home.
Stand here and don't you say nothing.
The
world will come.
Objects in life
are
closer than they appear
somewhere
next to the big mirror
we
all exist.
(September,
2002)
Neuron
Joy
It's
the heart he takes out tonight
my son won't take out the trash tonight
or
any night
he
writes poems instead
an
impatient lightning
pulled
out of its sheath
he
boils out cascading
through the canyons of his mind
a
laughter mailed to itself spinning a trail of smoldering
sparks
a
hawk a colt nervous and sniffing the smoke in the fire
of worlds sunken deep
staggers
into endless night steaming black churning blue
stars
above tender below crickets chirping
tears
a verb shoots up my poet at thirteen
zipping
whitehot Shiva
dances fleeting faces past future whispers and unseen
it's
the heart he takes out tonight
not
the trash that cash the train of flight
my son a poet at thirteen and proud
slam
dunks the world like I won't at hundred fifteen.
(August, 2000)
Ugur
Akinci's web site:
http://tork.blogspot.com
E-mail
to the poet: ugurakinci@aol.com
© Poems & Photo-Digital Art by Ugur Akinci, 2002
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